Truthful Deceit
by LadyHorror92
Summary: Returning to London after divorcing her husband, Ellie would have been left in financial ruin if it weren't for her brother looking out for her. With his unwanted help, she rents the basement flat of 221C Baker Street where she meets the most peculiar man. Sherlock. But their meeting is not a coincidence, and her brother is not helping her out of the kindness of his heart.


**A/N: **_**A woman moves into the basement flat 221C and meets Sherlock… I'll be the first to say that's a little overused, but it's actually very key to this fic. I didn't just have her move into the flat in a half-hearted attempt for my OC to meet Sherlock. As I said, her living there will play a key role later in this story!**_

_**Timeline-wise, this fic starts a few days before the events of the first episode where Sherlock meets John and will continue throughout the series. And the case Sherlock is requesting her input on is the one involving the corpse that he beats and the text "if brother has green ladder arrest the brother" in the first episode of the first season.**_

**Summary:**_** Returning to London after finally divorcing her husband, Ellie Shaw would have been left in financial ruin if it weren't for her brother looking out for her. With his financial help, she rents the basement flat of 221C Baker Street where she meets the most peculiar man in all of London – Sherlock Holmes. But their meeting is not a coincidence, and her brother is not helping her out of the kindness of his heart.**_

**Disclaimer: **_**I do not own **_**"Sherlock"**_**. If I did, the OC would be in the series.**_

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Walking around the basement flat of 221C, scraping her blunt thumb nail against a stain on the yellowish wall, frowning at the gunk under her nail, Ellie Shaw had to admit that she'd lived in better places.

For the past seven years, she'd lived in the U.S with her husband whom she'd recently divorced. Her home had been quite lovely in an equally lovely community. Dan, her ex-husband, was a very successful business man who'd sought to give her everything she ever wanted – the house with a white fence, the expensive clothes, the jewelry, everything. He stole her away from the anxiety and fear that her family in London caused her, and shortly after arriving in Georgia they married.

Unfortunately, she traded one dysfunctional family for another, and though she'd only been divorced for two weeks it felt like she hadn't been married to Dan for over three years. He could give her the world just by opening his wallet, but he could never her give her the one thing she desired – love and companionship.

Was that really so much to ask for?

Given that she was back in London after seven years of absence with no ring on her finger and no money to her name, it was.

If it weren't for her brother ringing her upon learning of her divorce mere days after it was finalized – how he figured it out, she really didn't want to know – she would be sleeping on the streets back in Georgia, stuck in the mess she'd found herself in.

Her brother was the one who purchased a first class ticket back to London – a flight she didn't enjoy in the slightest – and was the one to point her in the direction of 221C. Not to mention it was he who would be sending her money to pay her rent with until she got back on her feet. As sweet as it was that he was helping her out, she wasn't a fool – her brother was selfish and _never_ did anything without expecting something in return.

Only time would tell what she would have to do to pay him back and she feared that day with all her heart. For now, however, she was happy to at least have a roof over her head and a bed to sleep in.

Sifting her fingers through her incredibly short light brown hair, Ellie sighed.

She'd lived in better, but she could also be living in worse places. At least the landlady was nice, almost motherly. That was a bonus, she supposed.

Mrs. Hudson had offered to remove the tattered wallpaper, clean the stains on the floor, and help fix the dozens of other issues with the place for her and help her get situated, but Ellie politely refused, not wanting to take advantage of the woman's generosity when she could do the hard work herself. Despite coming from money and marrying into it, she liked doing things the hard way a lot of the time and doing things herself, a trait she shared only with her late father.

She idly scraped at a dark smudge of something on the wall, looked at her nail, and grimaced at the realization that it was mold. She'd make it a priority to go out later on to get some cleaning supplies with the money her brother had left for her in a bank account, maybe an air-freshener or two and a dehumidifier.

The mere thought of touching that money made her want to vomit. She hated accepting charity, especially from her older brother. She'd left London to get away from her family, but more specifically to get out from under her brother's thumb – hell, she'd married a man she liked but didn't love all that much to get away from him! It was quite sickening that even though she was happily divorced she was right back at where she started.

Filing away her discrepancies with him for the time being, Ellie wondered over to one of her two suitcases and proceeded to fill up the single dresser Mrs. Hudson had generously given her with her clothes when a loud thud from upstairs nearly made her jump clean out of her skin, followed by footsteps too heavy to belong to Mrs. Hudson.

She stared up at the ceiling for a moment as the footsteps grew distant, silent, and then returned as whomever was up there made their way back into the building.

Confused, Ellie abandoned her suitcases and hurried up the stairs of her basement flat, through the foyer, and out onto the street, the cool air making her pull her dark green sweater tighter around her.

She saw a man with curly dark hair rooting through the trunk of a cab that seemed overly stuffed with boxes and suitcases to the point where she wasn't sure how the man had even been sitting in it, but he must have found some gap between his belongings.

Recalling Mrs. Hudson's mention that the flat above – 221B – was going to be rented out to a man named Sherlock Holmes who apparently saw to her husband getting executed, she figured that this must be him. She certainly hoped he wasn't in a sour mood, given that Mrs. Hudson also said that prior to Ellie's brother paying for her to move in, Sherlock had shown interest in 221C due to the cheap rent. 221B was more expensive, and thus he would probably require a flatmate sooner rather than later.

Worrying on her lower lip, she approached the cab. "Need a hand?"

If they were going to be neighbors, she may as well be friendly and help him move in.

Lifting his head from the trunk, he stared at her with intuitive blue eyes, looking her up and down briefly. "No," he replied before turning his attention back to pulling boxes and bags from the trunk.

"Oh, Sherlock, be polite, will you?" scolded Mrs. Hudson as she hurried outside to lend a hand, to which he did not protest. "She's the woman I told you about, remember? She's renting the basement."

He looked at her again, but more closely this time now that he had that little detail. It was disconcerting, how he was looking at her.

After a moment, he indicated to some boxes in the back seat. "Be careful with those. My skull is in there."

She blinked, wondering if she heard right. "You're skull?" she repeated slowly.

"He's a friend," he explained as casually as if he were talking about an actual person and not bone.

"Why do you… you know what, never mind, I'm not even going to ask," she said more to herself as she moved to the cab to help carry in boxes.

Lifting the box, careful of the skull that may or may not be inside, she carried it inside 221B.

Reaching the top of the stairs, she set the box inside near the couch and took notice of the mess already cluttering the place. She'd stayed in a hotel yesterday, but earlier that morning after looking through 221C she also took a few minutes to look around 221B while helping Mrs. Hudson carry up some cleaning supplies. It had been empty then, save for the furniture. Sherlock must have begun moving in sometime after she went back to the hotel.

Curious about the skull he'd mention, Ellie glanced behind her to see if he'd followed, hesitated, and then lifted the lid from the box to take a peek inside.

Sure enough, there was an old skull tucked safely in an old shirt. She gingerly picked it up, both disturbed and fascinated to find that it was real bone and not just some Halloween fake.

What kind of man kept around a real human skull?

"Why would your brother kill you?"

Ellie gasped, nearly dropping the skull as she spun on her heel to find Sherlock standing behind her with a box in hand.

She blinked, heart still racing. "How do you know I have a brother?"

"Your clothes," he stated, stepping over to take the skull from her hands and place it on the mantle.

"My clothes?" she repeated, furrowing her brows.

Last time she checked, there was nothing out of the ordinary about her choice of clothing, let alone nothing that screamed "I have a brother".

"They're expensive, and more money has been thrown into having them tailored – few clothing lines can adequately accommodate to such a petite frame of someone no more than 5'2 so well. Someone with enough money for designer brands and flawless tailoring wouldn't go looking for a moldy basement, so you're here by someone else's charity," he explained in one breath as he stepped out the door, forcing her to hurry after him down the steps just to hear him. "You haven't lived in London for some time, not with that tan – you've probably lived in the southern US for some time given the rather unique turn your accent has taken. Your posture and the way you hold yourself speak of a background in etiquette, so you likely came from a wealthy family that you didn't get along with very well if you went off with a man to America – whom you've recently divorced seeing as the skin of your ring finger is noticeably paler than the rest of you. You left with a man for America when you were in your late teens to early twenties, but you still had money so you didn't leave for financial reasons, you left because of something else. So, you return to London and immediately go searching for a moldy flat?"

"Maybe I'm looking for a change of pace," Ellie stated. "Scrape off that wallpaper, clean the carpet and walls, maybe a fresh coat of paint – the basement quite cozy."

He shook his head, lifting another box from the taxi, and she did the same. "Your husband left you with nothing but your fancy clothes, leaving you no choice but to look for cheap accommodations. Someone who left their high society family for an American wouldn't be offered money from the extended family, so sibling or parent. Judging by the rather poorly done tattoo on your wrist and edgy short haircut I'll go with sibling – older, not younger. An older sibling is the one who typically offers help."

"Why a brother and not a sister? Why not my mother? And how the hell do you know all of this?"

"As I said, that tattoo is poorly done and old – you probably got it as a form of teenage rebellion so it's unlikely your parents would feel so inclined to help you after you fled to America. And the haircut is choppy and edgy, not something a high class family would like to see on their daughter. Now, brother or sister – not a sister because a woman would be more attuned to the details of a flat, but whoever picked this one out for you did so simply so you'd have a roof over your head, so brother it is. Now," he paused, taking a breath at the top of the steps. Setting the box down, he repeated his earlier question, "If your brother were going to kill you, why would he?"

Ellie could do little more than stare at him for several seconds, completely taken aback. "… I'm guessing that trick doesn't win you a lot of friends, does it?"

"I fail to see how that's relevant."

She could only stare incredulously at the man before her, unable to tell if he was serious or just putting on a show. Honestly, as unbelievable as it was, she doubted it was all an act because he knew far too much about her, even if he had gotten a few things wrong.

"Well," she started, giving his question some serious thought. "I suppose if my brother were going to kill me, he'd be looking to get something out of my death."

Sherlock nodded slowly. "Such as?"

She shrugged, setting down the box after having nearly forgotten she was holding it. "Not money – as you so eloquently pointed out, I have none. But… I don't know, maybe if there was something I had that he wanted he'd kill me if I were unwilling to give it up. It would have to be a terrible relationship though. Few siblings are willing to kill each other, at least I hope they're unwilling."

"You would be surprised how many siblings face the temptation of murdering each other," Sherlock responded with a dry note of bitterness.

From that, even Ellie could tell that he had a sibling, most likely a brother. She couldn't imagine him being prickly about a sister. Then again, she only literally just met him, and from what she could tell figuring him out was going to be a long-term challenge.

"You've no plans for the evening, am I correct?"

She frowned. "I beg your pardon?"

"You're in the process of moving in and you'll be cleaning and painting the walls soon – you have mold under your fingernails and you appear to be a rather clean person so it's unlikely it's growing on you, so you must have scratched at the wall. Since I can't imagine you'd readily allow the mold to stay there, you'll likely be heading out to purchase some paint and cleaning supplies if you haven't already and that will be your first priority," he explained in only one breath or two, right off the top of his head.

"And that all says that I have no plans for the evening?"

"Am I wrong?"

She pursed her lips, then admitted, "No, I don't have plans. Why, you asking me on a date or something?"

"What?" he started, looking a bit perplexed as if her question was akin to a foreign language. "No."

"Then why do you want to know?" Ellie asked, exasperated.

"There's a restaurant three blocks from here. They claim to serve authentic Italian cuisine but they've clearly purchased canned products and precooked dishes that they've thrown together for appearance sake. Still quite good if not overpriced," he explained, starting down the steps yet again, making her roll her eyes as she followed after. "The walk isn't long so there's no need for a cab. Meet me outside at six o'clock and we'll be on our way."

"Whoa, wait, hang on a minute!" Ellie hurried forward, grabbing his arm and forcing him to a halt before they reached the street. "You just said you weren't asking me out on a date."

"I'm not."

"Then what the bloody hell are you getting at?" she demanded.

Sighing in irritation, frustrated with her questions and lack of understanding, Sherlock admitted with great reluctance, "I've hit a snag in the case I'm working and could use a woman's intuition, something your sex claims to put a lot of stock in."

"Case?" she repeated, baffled, trying not to be insulted by how he explained his need for a woman's intuition. "What are you, a detective?"

"A consulting detective," he corrected proudly.

"What's that?" she asked, fairly certain she'd never heard of a consulting detective.

"I advise the police when they are out of their element, as they always are but will never readily admit," he explained. "I invented the job."

"So, you're the only one in London?"

"I'm the only one in the world."

Her lips twitched at that and she crossed her arms. "Basically, you have no way of telling if you're good or bad at the job because you have no one to compete with."

His face hardened, insulted by the insinuation, and he quickly retorted, "There is no one to compete with because no one can do what I can."

"Well, you certainly are a cocky bastard," she quipped matter-of-factly. Truthfully, she was a bit curious to see just what had this 'consulting detective' asking her for assistance in whatever case he was working on when clearly his ego was enough company for him. With a resigned sigh, she asked, "You said six o'clock?"

"Yes," he confirmed, looking mildly surprised that she was actually agreeing. "Dress nicely and do be on time."

"On time," Ellie repeated, shaking her head as he looked away. "Says the man with a human skull and telling me my own life history in less than a few minutes quite accurately, apart from the odd mistake here and there."

He glanced at her, not catching on for another fraction of a second before a frown formed and he snapped his icy blue eyes to her. "Mistake? What mistake? What did I get wrong?"

Smiling thinly, she replied tightly, "You're the _consulting detective_. You figure it out."

She got the distinct feeling that he liked knowing everything there was to know about everyone and became frustrated whenever he didn't know something, if the tight frown and furrow of his brows as he studied her was any indication to the fact.

Idly, she let her gaze travel over him for a moment before turning on her heel to head back to her basement flat, deciding to let him finish bringing in his own things by himself as she racked her brain to figure him out just as he'd done with her.

While he seemed to make his deductions based off observations, she based her opinions and such off of instinct and personal experiences.

Putting together all that she was able to learn about Sherlock from their first meeting, Ellie came to the conclusion that she did not like him one bit and that he was absolutely no good for her, even as she set to work on finding an outfit for this evening.

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_**Review, please! Reviews let me know that you wish for more!**_

_**I really did not want Sherlock and Ellie to like each other all that much right off that bat. In a lot of fics I've read, it seems like Sherlock and the OC generally get off on the right foot. That's not at all a bad thing as some of those fics are very good and are some of my favorite fics out there, but that just isn't my style of writing.**_


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